


As You Wish

by ObliObla



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chloe KNOWS, Comment Fic, Dreams, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hell, I did warn you about the angst, Metaphysics, References to Paradise Lost, References to the comics, The Princess Bride References, Without reading the comics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-18 20:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16524410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: 'As you wish' was all he ever said to her.That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was, ‘I love you'.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariaadagio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariaadagio/gifts).



> Inspired by a comment on ariaadagio's Castaway (which you should go read, if you haven't already)
> 
> This starts as fluff, but I've got another couple chapters in the works that will get angsty.
> 
> I hope you like it!

“As you wish.”

Lucifer strode out of the station, on a mission for coffee.

Chloe stared at his disappearing back; he’d told her before that he couldn’t read minds, but… that _couldn’t_ be a coincidence, could it? She and Trixie and Maze had watched _The Princess Bride_ just last night—neither of them had seen it before. Trixie had especially loved the ROUSs and Maze had literally asked, “Is this a kissing movie,” two seconds before Fred Savage had said approximately the same.

And then today, during an ordinary morning, he’d been staring into space with that look like he was about to get into trouble if she’d didn’t immediately give him something to do. And so, “Hey, Lucifer? Would you mind getting us some Starbucks? The station stuff is…”

“Shite?”

“I was gonna go with ‘disappointing,’ but… yeah.”

And, “As you wish,” he’d said.

She shook her head, breaking herself out of her thoughts; she was thinking _way_ too much into this. He probably said, “As you desire,” a half dozen times a day; this wasn’t any different, right?

Right?

“Here you are, Detective,” he was standing in front of her, holding out a cup and a small bag.

“Thanks, Lucifer.” She sipped the coffee; it was perfect, as always. She put her drink down to look in the bag. “A bear claw?” She grinned at him, “That’s my favorite pastry; how’d you know?”

He smiled back, settling next to her desk, “You told me.” He shrugged, taking a sip of his own drink.

“When did I do that?” she wracked her brain, but couldn’t remember ever mentioning it.

“A few weeks after we met. I made a joke about police officers and donuts and you told me,” he put on the ridiculous high-pitched accent he did when he was trying to imitate her, “‘For the record, I don’t even like donuts. I like _pastries_ , like bear claws,’ as if those are truly distinct categories.” He smirked at her.

“How do you _possibly_ remember that?” she blinked at him, “Oh, wait, this is one of those Devil things, isn’t it?” His behavior really had made a lot more sense since she’d understood who he truly was.

“…yes, a _Devil thing_.”

And she’d tried to put the whole thing out of her mind.

*   *   *

She made it five hours; really, she was very impressed with herself. Not _pressing_ , as it were, was a difficult thing; especially when it came to Lucifer, who barely shared when he _was_ being pushed, let alone when he wasn’t. Work hadn’t picked up in the slightest; she couldn’t even be mad at him for juggling Dan’s wobble-head dolls. It wasn’t like there was anything productive he could be doing. If not for her need to look professional for the new Lieutenant—who seemed to hate everyone, but definitely hated her in particular—she’d have given it up as a bad job. It was 4:35 on a Friday. There wasn’t even any paperwork left.

Dan had just tossed him a fifth doll and it was becoming increasingly clear that five was an untenable number of wobble-head dolls to juggle. With a small crashing noise, two of the dolls toppled, together, to the ground. Lucifer caught the other three with a chagrined expression, “Apologies, Daniel; I think Mr. Fireman Wobbly and Mr. Policeman Wobbly wanted some alone time.”

Dan chuckled, “It’s fine, man.” He turned back to his own meager paperwork with a frustrated sigh.

“Hey, Lucifer?” he turned to her expectantly, “Are you… doing anything tonight?”

Dan was trying really hard to pretend he wasn’t listening in; Lucifer hummed, “I don’t think so; did you have something in mind?”

“Yeah, I…” she steeled herself, “Movie night?”

He smiled, “Sounds lovely, darling.”

*   *   *

“Have you seen,” she tried to fake casualness, “ _The Princess Bride_?”

“What’s that?”

They were sitting together—closer that they needed to be, probably—on her couch. Maze had an out-of-town bounty and Trixie was with Dan this weekend, so they were, rather dangerously, alone. She blinked at him, “Wait, you really haven’t seen it?” Well, there went _that_ theory.

He smirked at her, “Millennia in Hell, remember? I haven’t had that much time on Earth and the only movies in Hell are… _bad_.”

She laughed, “What, like my mom’s?”

“How dare you?” he glared at her in mostly fake outrage, “Her schlocky glory is _far_ too divine for torture.”

“Snuff?”

“Oh, no. Sex and violence, raw and uncut. They wish they got to watch that.”

“What then?” she frowned at him.

“Actually, it’s mainly American Public Service Announcements from the 1970s. The depth of ennui and horror therein is unsurpassable.”

“Well, we _have_ to watch this, then. It’s one of my favorite movies.”

“Really?” he settled further against her, laying an arm against the couch back, “Then I shall memorize every detail.”

It was deeply unfair how incredibly romantic he could be without even meaning to. She steeled herself; this might be the biggest _push_ she’d given him since they’d kissed, but they couldn’t stay trapped in this weird tension forever. Maybe he thought she still wasn’t ready, wasn’t fully accepting of him, but she was and, well, this was only one step from out-and-out jumping him. It was mildly terrifying that the moment of truth, as it were, was right at the beginning of the movie.

“Oh look at them,” he smiled fondly, “They’re so young.”

The _moment_ was coming ever closer.

“He is _quite_ pretty in this movie,” he mused, elbowing her; he looked over, “Are you paying attention, darling? You seem a bit… out of it.”

“ _Yep_.” They were nearly there. She was watching his face, the movie barely a whisper in the background.

Buttercup was speaking, “Farm boy, polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

And Westley responded, “As you wish.” Lucifer’s jaw twitched.

The grandfather cut in, “‘As you wish,’ was all he ever said to her.”

“Farm boy, fill these with water, please.”

“As you wish.” He stopped breathing, eyes fixed on the screen.

And the grandfather continued, “That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying ‘As you wish,’ what he meant was, ‘I love you.’” His eyes flitted to hers, movie entirely forgotten.

She bit her lip, “Lucifer, fetch me that remote.” It was sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

There was a terrifying tremulous second, where neither of them moved, but then he smiled, grabbing the remote without breaking eye contact; his voice was soft and warm as he placed it in her hand.

“As you wish.”


	2. Chapter 2

The shot came out of nowhere.

One moment, Chloe was inspecting the nearly empty crime scene while Ella examined a broken window, Dan ordered some uniforms around and Lucifer messed with his phone; the next, she was on the floor while screams and the gunshot echoed painfully in her ears. She heard a shout and frantic footsteps leading away from her; Lucifer was a heavy weight above her where he’d tackled her to the ground, “Lucifer, get off me; I have to—” He groaned, slipping off her; she turned to him, “Hey are you…?”

His white shirt was dyed red from the wound in his chest. His hand, which had been pressed against his sternum, reached out for her before falling against his thigh. He stared blankly at the blood that dripped from it. “Lucifer!” she dived, catching him around the shoulders, “You’ll be ok. It… it’s ok.” Dan swore angrily behind her, calling an ambulance. Ella was crying. The other officers must have been chasing after the suspect, but Chloe didn’t care. She couldn’t care; Lucifer was…

“I…” he panted weakly; she tried to put pressure on the wound, but he drew her hand away, clutching at it, “I think I’m… _done_ , love. The bullet’s severed an artery. I won’t make it to hospital.”

“Don’t talk like that, man,” Dan’s voice cracked, “You’ll be _fine_. You’ve just gotta—”

“ _Chloe_ ,” he brought his other hand up with difficulty, brushing her hair back, streaking her face with his blood; he tried to something else, but his voice failed him.

She kissed his forehead, eyes stinging, “Come back to me, _please_. I can’t… not without you.”

He coughed wetly, blood spotting his lips, “ _As_ … _you_ … _wish_.”

His hand fell, limp, to the ground; her Lightbringer lay, dull and unmoving, like he never was. She clung to his shirt, uncaring of the blood that soaked into her own. Hands gripped at her shoulders; she struck at them blindly, “No, _no_ … I won’t let her…”

Dan grunted in pain behind her. “Chloe, he… he’s _gone_. We have to—”

“He promised he’d come back to me. He _promised._ ” Tears mingled with the blood on her face.

Wings flapped, distantly; Dan gasped. Ella yelped, “Ray-ray? What… why can everyone see you?”

Chloe looked up; Azrael was crying silently, watching her. “ _Chloe_ ,” her voice was so… _kind_ , “you have to let him go.”

“No,” she stood up and pulled a demon dagger from her jacket pocket, pointing it at the angel, “I won’t let you take him.”

She made to move forward, but hesitated, eyes fixed on the blade, “Did Lucifer give you that?”

“ _No_ ,” she sneered—anger was so much easier than the flood of grief that threatened to overwhelm her—stepping between Azrael and his fallen form, “Maze did, but _he_ taught me how to use it. You. Can’t. Have. Him.”

“I can’t… I don’t have a _choice_ , Chloe. It’s not my decision.”

“Yeah, it _is_ your decision. You can _decide_ to leave, or,” she growled, “I _will_ stab you.”

“I’ll just come back. That blade can’t kill me permanently.”

“Then I’ll just have to keep killing you until he wakes up.”

“That’s not how this…” she frowned, taking an involuntary step forward; she stared at Lucifer’s body.

“Don’t come any closer,” Chloe brandished the knife again, but Azrael didn’t even seem to notice her.

“His soul is… _gone_.”

“What?” she glanced down as if she could see whatever the angel had; she shook her head, “Well, bring him _back_ then.”

“I didn’t… Chloe, _I_ didn’t take him.”

“So, his soul’s just… _disappeared_ , is what you’re saying?”

“This is impossible, I don’t—”

“Ok,” Dan was looking between them, bewildered, “What the _hell_ is going on?”

“Lucifer wasn’t lying, this is his sister, the angel of death, and _apparently_ ,” she glared at her, “his soul’s just up and left on its own.”

“…or someone else has taken it,” Azrael added, muttering.

Chloe turned back to her, “Who could’ve done that?”

“I… the only one capable is, well,” she almost looked frightened, “Death herself.”

“But I thought _you_ were Death?” Ella had made a valiant effort at recovering her composure, but her voice still shook.

“No, I’m a psychopomp. I take souls to Heaven… or Hell, depending on their actions in life. She’s… something else. Something… stranger. Scarier.”

“Ok, so how do we find her?” Chloe tightened her fingers around the knife until they hurt.

Azrael blinked at her, “We don’t. She exists in chaos. She _is_ chaos, I think. It’s… the void; the plane of spirit.”

“What’s…?”

“Your soul is… _you_ ; your conscious mind, your personality. And when you die, I take it to its Judgement. Your spirit is like… the spark of life. It’s granted to you when you’re born, and taken away when you die. It comes from the void, and to the void it returns. Souls don’t even exist there.”

“But _Lucifer_ is—”

“I don’t know, Chloe. I don’t understand either. All I know is you can’t go there. _I_ can’t even go there.”

“But,” she shuddered, fingernails biting into her palm, “we _have_ to.”

“All we can do is wait, and hope he somehow makes his way back to this reality.”

“He will,” she nodded fiercely, “He _promised_. He’d never break that.”

“I…” she laid her hand on her shoulder, “I hope you’re right.”

*   *   *

Lucifer was floating in the void and… sitting on a low sofa? His surroundings resolved around him; a small, formal sitting room was bathed in soft light that seemed to emanate from the air. Across from him, in an elegant armchair, was a maelstrom of entropy and unformed energy in the shape of a young, pale, black haired woman, dressed in a leather jacket and dark jeans. “Ah, the Lady Death,” he splayed out on the couch, resting his arms against the back, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

She frowned. “Well, you’re dead. I…” she blinked, infusing her voice with a little more sympathy, “I’m sorry, did you not know?”

He scoffed. “Of course I bloody know. What I _don’t_ know is why I’m suspended in the primordial chaos with _you_ ,” he smirked, inclining his head, “m’lady.”

“You _have_ been barred from Heaven.” She rolled her eyes, half exasperated, half fond.

The familiarity of the gesture made the illusion of his chest ache almost as deeply as the gunshot had, but he buried his discomfort. “Yes… I’d be rather more surprised were I to end up _there_. But the pertinent question, my dear, is why I’m not in _Hell_.” He gestured hopefully; a glass filled with amber liquid appeared in his hand. He grinned, taking a satisfied sip.

“You don’t deserve damnation.”

He choked on his whiskey. “ _What_?”

“Apparently, you’ve been… redeemed. You can’t go to Heaven; you can’t go to Hell, so you’re stuck here,” she gestured, either at the parlor or the crude consistence that seethed beyond the walls, “with me.” At his outraged look, she shook her head, “Look, I’m not exactly happy about this either.”

He bit his lip, “Can’t I just get out of here the way I did before?”

“What, by falling?”

He bared his teeth, “It worked, didn’t it?’

She stood, reaching a hand out, “I can’t let you do that again.”

“And why not? You didn’t seem to give much of a damn last time,” he got up and strode over to a small aquarium by the window, watching the goldfish as they swam back and forth.

“I… I hadn’t,” she flushed, joining him at the fish tank, “I hadn’t experienced _pain_ yet. I didn’t understand what the costs would be. _You_ didn’t—”

“Well, I do now,” he hissed, turning to her; he let his glamour fall, “and believe me when I tell you I remember every second of the thousand years I burned in the pit.”

“You know,” she glared back, uncowed, “I shouldn’t let you do this; no one has experienced true death as many times as you, Lightbearer. It’s… unnatural.”

“And how, exactly,” he towered over her, flames burning to white in his eyes, “do you intend to stop me? I may be dead, but I am _far_ from powerless.”

She stepped backward; her expression softened, “You really could stay here, you know? I enjoy my solitude, but it’d be no burden to share my work with you. We could ferry spirits, together, to the void. You were always meant to be a psychopomp, Samael.”

“No,” he shook his head, “I made a vow. I must return to Earth.”

She smiled wistfully, “You really do love her, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed, “I do. And I’ll not let a mortal bullet take her from me.” He turned to the door, twisting the handle; the infinite darkness swirled before him.

He felt her hand on his, “Just… be careful. I didn’t do right by you the first time we met.”

He kissed her knuckles, “Time has… _softened_ you, my lady.”

“Loss will do that,” she bit her lip, “Now, leave and… try not to come back, yeah?”

He grinned sardonically, “Oh, but don’t you know, darling? Death comes to us all, in the end.” And he threw himself into the wild abyss.

“Almost all,” she whispered, watching him fall, “ _almost_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I don't break what I won't fix. But, I did warn you about the angst.
> 
> I hope you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

Through a series of highly illegal actions that would absolutely come back to bite them in the ass unless Lucifer actually came back to life, they managed to sneak his body out before the autopsy. The corpse was now lying on a table in his penthouse. Azrael had promised he wouldn’t decompose before, rather reluctantly, returning to her job ferrying souls.

It was late. Ella and Dan—who’d agreed to keep Trixie in the dark, for now—had gone home, but Chloe wouldn’t. _Couldn’t_. True to the angel’s word, rigor mortis had failed to set in. He was barely even paler than usual and, when she took his hand, he wasn’t even cold. With his eyes closed—she had gently shut them; she couldn’t stand seeing that dull glint—he could’ve been asleep. But he wasn’t, and that knowledge made her ache.

The elevator dinged, “Oh, Lucifer,” Linda stood in the threshold, hand over her mouth. Maze ran to the table, almost knocking Chloe over in her haste. She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly. Linda followed her, putting her hand on the demon’s back, “Maze, _Maze_.”

“Wake up,” she’d never heard Maze cry before. It sounded… wrong; the sobs wrenched from her throat like claws scrambling, “You… _bastard._ Why won’t you wake up?” She hit him across the face, collapsing against his chest, clinging hard enough to tear his suit.

“ _Azrael_ ,” Chloe’s voice was thick with tears; she cleared her throat, “Azrael said he was in the void, but I don’t know what that—”

“That bitch!”

“Azrael?”

She shook her head, “Death, or chaos, or… whatever the hell she wants to call herself. She _stole_ him.”

“Why would she…?”

“Why else,” she shrugged, then made a crude gesture. “He ended up there the first time he fell. She doesn’t get a lot of visitors. Or any, actually.” She stroked his cheek with her thumb for a second before catching herself, straightening mechanically. “He shouldn’t be so… quiet.” Then she grabbed Linda’s hand and started marching them out of the room.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“I can’t…” Maze bit her lip, turning back to Chloe, “Just… call me when he wakes up.”

And she was left, alone, with her thoughts.

She smoothed down his rucked up lapels automatically trying, and failing, to not stare at the bloodstains, the bullet embedded in the flesh. Her eye caught on the bar for a second, before she turned her gaze back to him—if she started drinking now, she wouldn’t stop. Instead, she ground her palms against her eyes and listened detachedly to the quiet sobs that disrupted the silence. From somewhere in the ceiling, she watched herself cling to his hand, bury her face in the crook of his neck. The chair squeaked as her body trembled and sobs slowly turned to wails.

She hadn’t let herself fall apart. She had to be _strong_ , didn’t she? For everyone, for him; have _faith_. And she did—she _did_ —but she couldn’t…

With a violent snap, she was back in her own head, neck aching from its awkward angle, his collar damp with tears and snot. “ _Please_.” The voice was so wracked with grief, it took her a moment to even realize it was hers. She wrenched her head up, staring at the sky through the windows, where his stars, already almost impossible to see through the light pollution and the haze, seemed even dimmer. She stood abruptly, pacing erratically. “Why do you have to be so _cruel_? We were _happy_ you complete… _bastard_!

“ _Plea_ …” She shook her head, taking a deep breath, “No, you know what? Screw this. I’m not gonna beg you.” She was yelling now, at the ceiling, the walls; anywhere she could imagine his father might be listening from, “I don’t need you. _We_ don’t need you.

“I don’t believe in _you_ ; I believe in him.”

*   *   *

Lucifer fell.

Bless and curse his memory. It hurt _exactly_ as it had last time, but remembering the pain didn’t actually make it any better. Time didn’t exist in the void; his fall lasted an instant and an eternity. His wings burned and his flesh was stripped mercilessly away. If anything, the fire seemed to scorch deeper this time, which would’ve been concerning, had he the mental wherewithal to worry while tumbling headlong through corrupted space. Souls were not supposed to be in this place and his rebelled at the wrongness by twisting and warping painfully.

_Uriel is here._

A cruel little voice in his head—murmuring from the darkening flames.

_Or his essence is, at least. Charlotte, Delilah… you’ll never know their souls again, but here… wouldn’t it be simpler, better even, to just… stay?_

It would be so easy to just let himself melt in the formless plasma, drown in this illimitable ocean. But he could do this, couldn’t he? The strength of his will kept him together the first time… but wasn’t _this_ the first time? Time, after all, had no sway here. He was as youthful and untempered as he’d been when he first doubted. The memories of the intervening years… they couldn’t be _real_ , right? Or, at least, not as real as _this_. This embryonic descent—mixed in its causes—held all substance, didn’t it? Everything was here. Every _one_ was here, or would be, or… already were. He could stay here forever—whatever that meant—with Linda and Dan and Chl…

_Chloe_.  He shook his head—or the liminal notion of it—dispelling the traitorous whispers. He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here so he could go back to her. He had to get out of here before he lost what sense of self he had left. He beat his wings, even as they were rebuffed by great winds, even as the fire raged hotter still, and managed to slow his ceaseless tumble, grasping for the rent in the chaos—that thin place he had fallen through the first time. He caught at its interminable edges, scraping at it with flayed and flaming fingers and, with a great heave of effort, threw himself through, slamming into the plane of Hell with a crack like thunder.

But he’d used all the strength he had to fling himself from the maelstrom. The lake of fire caught at his arms and legs, pulling him down with fiery hands. He was not bound in adamantine chains as he’d been the first time, but the burning brimstone still filled his lungs and invaded his mind and, as he was dragged into the depths, all he could see were her eyes, blue as the heavens he would never again behold.

_I’m sorry, my love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your lovely comments!


	4. Chapter 4

_I’m sorry, my love._

Chloe jerked awake. She’d fallen asleep, face pressed into Lucifer’s shoulder, hand clenched around his, but she swore she’d heard him speak. His eyes were still shut, mouth still slack. His voice had been hoarse… _pained_. She caught at his chest, pressing above his heart, but it lay motionless as ever. She leaned her head against him. Her eyes pricked, but she had no tears left.

A flap of wings sounded from behind her. She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhausted, “If you don’t have good news, I… I don’t think I’m up for an argument.”

“ _Chloe_ …”

“Amenadiel?” The chair crashed to the ground as she jumped to her feet, spinning to face him. But her sudden, violent hopes were dashed. He was staring at his brother with a desolation that could have unsettled mountains. But she had to try, “Is there anything you can—”

“He’s trapped in Hell.”

“Well,” she glared at him, “Go and get him!”

“I… His soul is too damaged to travel between planes,” he sighed wearily. “He’s… _gone_.”

“He said he’d come back.”

“Chloe, he—”

“He doesn’t break deals.” She turned back to him, stroking his hair. “He said, ‘As you wish.’ Before he…” she shook her head, “Do you know what that means?”

“I don’t…”

“It means ‘I love you’. It _means_ ,” she took his hand again, “that no matter how long it takes, I’ll wait for him. Even if I have to wait forever.” Amenadiel’s wings fluttered behind her as he disappeared. The table creaked a little as she crawled up onto it, but she paid it no mind, settling on him, pressing her ear to where his heart would beat again.

It had to.

*   *   *

Lucifer languished in the darkness and the flames. Sulfur-choked and buried beneath tons of swirling magma, he curled his tattered wings around himself, slipping between reality and dreams. The veil of suffocating heat rose and he fell, again, to the dreaming…

The ivory gates stood, open and inviting; from beyond their intricate bars, there was warmth, laughter. Love, uncomplicated and pure, gleamed from the meadows: a paradise, as she hugged her daughter, turned to watch him. Her hair was sunshine, her eyes an untroubled sky; her voice, when she spoke, was sweet and comforting, “Welcome home!” He stepped forward, involuntarily, but an anguished, broken sob made him turn.

Through the rough-hewn gates of horn, she wept over his corpse, stopping to curse him for leaving her, only to burst into further wracking, ugly tears. She wiped at her red-rimmed, bleary eyes, blinking at him in consternation. Her words, when they came, tumbled over each other, coming to him as if through water, dark and incomprehensible. “ _What’s… how… please…_ ”

“Honey, what are you doing?” The other Chloe reached out to him.

He looked between them, “She’s… _hurt_.”

“Yeah, I know,” she glanced at her twin, who had fallen to her knees, head buried in her hands; she sighed, “Isn’t it awful?”

“I… I have to help her.”

She stepped over the threshold, wavering for a moment, before solidifying. She wrapped her arms around him, “I’m here now.” He leaned into her embrace instinctually.

“But I…”

“Shh…” She stroked his cheek, “it’s ok.” She pulled away, taking his hand, “Now, let’s go home.”

And he followed her, as he always did, as he always _must_ , with those hallowed words on his tongue. “A… as you wish.” But she didn’t look back at him, didn’t smile in that soft, quiet way they shared. He stopped, wavering on the spot, “ _Wait_ …”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—” She kissed him; her lips were honeyed smoke that clouded his mind. Her grip on his wrist tightened as she led him to the gates.

*   *   *

“How dare you leave?” Chloe was crying, her tears soaking into his suit. The penthouse seemed… _smaller_. Its depths disappeared into the darkness. She looked up, wiping at her face, and froze. He was staring back at her from where the elevator should be. His skin was ravaged, worse than she’d ever seen; his wings were burning, the tips of the feathers scorched almost to black. “What… what’s going on?” He frowned at her. She blinked, “How are you… I don’t…” His lips formed her name; she bit her lip, “ _Please_ …” But he turned away, gazing into the distance. She slipped to the floor, ground her palms into her eyes.

She was seeing things.

She trembled, tears slipping between her fingers. She tried to block out the indistinct sound of his voice, the smell—harsh as a wildfire, sharp as the air after a thunderstorm, familiar in the back of her mind like a half-forgotten dream—but then…

“As you wish.”

She looked up. He was following _her_ —or some simulacrum of her—away from that veil between the penthouse and… wherever he was. She stood up, unsteady, “Lucifer, stop!” But his eyes were dull and vacant as he shuffled away from her. Her imposter, however, caught her gaze, smirking with pointed teeth dripping with dark blood.

“No!” She ran forward, but smacked into faintly gleaming gray bars. She grabbed at them and tried to wrench them back, but they were solid and strong. He was nearing the other gate, head down, arms slack. “No, _no_ … I can’t lose you…” She beat at the bars, falling to the ground. “ _Please_ …

“I love you.”

*   *   *

Chloe woke up.

She was sprawled uncomfortably in front of the elevator doors, hands clenched around nothing. She dragged herself around to look at Lucifer. He was still and silent on the table, just as he had been; one arm hung down limply, fingers brushing the floor.

_A dream, it was nothing but a dream._

She shook her head, getting up, hand scrubbing at her face. Dawn gleamed on the horizon, glinting off the mountains. She coughed, massaged at her throat; it was painfully dry. She lurched over to the bar, grabbing a glass, filling it with water.

_Crash._

The glass shattered as it slipped from her fingers, hit the floor. His skin was… _shimmering_. Faint as the light was; she couldn’t take her eyes off it.

_The light bringer._

But then a soft plume—a barely flickering flame—fluttered where his heart should be beating, before it rose up, engulfing him. Tendrils wrapped around his limbs, twisting under his skin. She ran toward him, but was caught, held back by arms that burned with aching familiarity. She ignored the hands on her waist, the voice in her ear; he was turning to ash in front of her. She couldn’t let the fire take him; she _wouldn’t_ …

“Chloe,” she struggled against the grip as she was turned around; he caught her gaze, “ _Chloe_.”

“You’re… how…?” She stared back at the ash on the table, then blinked up at him. She buried her face in his chest.

“You,” he tightened his arms around her, “You came for me. Called to me.”

“I… I thought that was a dream?”

“There’s a… _truth_ in dreams, sometimes. I was lost, but you found me,” he pulled away to smile down at her, “It’s starting to become a habit, love.”

“I thought,” she bit her lip, tears falling again, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

He shut his eyes, pained, “I know.”

“Azrael… Amenadiel… they said you couldn’t come back.”

His eyes opened, as insistent as they were wet and shining, “I will always come back to you. Don’t you remember? ‘Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.’”

He really had memorized every detail. She caught at his cheek; he seemed even warmer than usual, but that didn’t matter now. All her questions… there’d be a time for them, but right now. “Promise… _please_?”

He nodded solemnly, smiling the small, gentle smile only she got to see.

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *might* write a sequel, one of these days, but don't hold your breath.
> 
> I hope you liked this! I'd like to say I have happier fics coming, but angst is apparently my lot, so... look forward to more of that, I suppose.


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